


Untamed Wolves

by Karolus_Rex



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Aegon's Conquest, Gen, POV Original Character, War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-15
Updated: 2017-09-13
Packaged: 2018-11-14 10:20:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 9
Words: 13,649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11206047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Karolus_Rex/pseuds/Karolus_Rex
Summary: The North doesn't bow to Aegon and decides to fight on its own terms.





	1. Prelude

**Prelude**

* * *

"Let the Dragon waste his force on Moat Cailin." His brother roared. "In one month, we can make the fortress as strong as any other in Westeros, in two month we can reinforce it to the point where nothing the Dragon sends can break it."

"Bold words brother, but have you forgotten to what happened to the Hall of Harren the Black, would you wish the same to happen to us. Do you wish to see Winterfell burn to the ground as dragons fly around it?"

"Let them come." Said Brandon. "We are as big as all the other realms combined and if that Valyrian and his two bitches think they can conquer us with just three dragons we will teach them better."

He leaned over the table to confront his brother and king.

"Brother they could even have a thousand dragons that that wouldn't change a bit. They have their beasts, but we have a weapon far stronger than anything the Valyrians could invent."

Before his brother could continue Torrhen raised his hand in a clear signal for him to shut up. He had heard this argument countless times, of how the northern winter would destroy any would be conquerors, but there was one thing neither his brother nor his lords had taken into account…

… the people.

How could he enforce upon them a new war? A war that would see the North face off against all of the South with the exception of Dorne?

"Brandon how can you ask me to impose a war upon our people?"

"Torrhen you are my king and my blood and I tell you now the people will faster accept a war against the Andals and their Valyrian masters than to bend the knee to those fuckers." The bastard of Winterfell rose from his seat and walked around the table while he spoke. "Remember Theon the Hungry Wolf, of how when the Andals tried to invade the north he killed them all going as far as Andalos and destroying their homeland killing and enslaving everyone there. Brandon Ice Eyes who showed the Eastern flowers how the northmen would slaves to them."

"Remember our ancestor's brother. Benjen the Bitter, Bradon the Burner, Brandon the Bad and the other ones. All of them fought, preferring to put their lives on the hands of the Gods than to bend the knee to lesser men."

As doubt still marked his brother's face, Brandon lost his cool and allowed anger to flow throw his body. He had always been imprudent and because of that he had gained too many beatings from his father, but never once had he lost his control in the presence of his brother.

Bold and impertinent words were usual from him, but never anger.

"You still doubt our will, brother?" He demanded. "Are you such a coward, that you would prefer to bend the knee than to fight? Because if you are then you are not fit to rule as King of Winter."

He took Torrhen by the neck and begun to shout.

"IF YOU ARE TO BEND THEN BEND TO A NORTHMEN. BEND THE KNEE TO BOLTON, FOR HE WOULD SKINS THOSE DRAGONS WITH HIS HANDS BEFORE HE ALLOWED HIMSELF TO BO BROKEN. BEND TO THE KARSTARKS, BEND TO THE UMBER, THE FUNCKING GLOVER, TO WHOEVER YOU WISH JUST DON'T BEND TO THOSE FUCKING VALYRIAN."

Alarmed by the shouts the members of the Winter Guard rushed to the tent, swords in hand ready to strike down the king's half-brother.

"HOLD." Shouted the King to the Guardsmen.

Torrhen pushed Brandon aside and reached for the sword of his ancestors. With Ice on his hands he aimed the blade towards his brother neck.

"I should have your head for what you have done." He whispered, sounding more as a true King of Winter with Ice on his hands ready to strike down his half-brother than he had ever did during all his years as King.

"You should." Brandon agreed. "Do it brother prove to me and to father's ghost that you are a true Stark. Prove that you are a real King of Winter."

Torrhen wanted to do it. He felt the adrenaline on his body shouting, demanding him to cut his brother's head and to put it on display on the main gate at Moat Cailin as a warning to all that came from the south, telling them that the King of Winter would kill anyone that went against him even if it was his own blood.

But he couldn't do it.

He still remembered the sweet summer days as he taught Brandon how to ride and how to fight. The nights they had spent drinking on some shaggy Inn in WinterTown while their father, Edrick Ironside, sent his men to look for them only to find his two sons snoring on top of a bale of straw with empty cups of mead around them.

No, he couldn't force himself to kill him, but didn't mean he would allow his brother to leave unpunished for what he had done.

Brandon had opened his eyes, but he still had to be punished. Torrhen couldn't afford to look weak at his vassal's eyes.

"Killing you would be to easy, Brandon." He said while sheathing back his sword. "You own me a debt now, brother, one life for another."

"Who do you wish to see dead, brother?"

"How many dragons do you suppose, your life his worth, brother?" Torrhen asked with a wicked smile.

The answer took Brandon back in surprise, but the Stark bastard quickly recovered.

"How many do you wish to see dead, my king?"

* * *

**This story is based on the premisse of What If The North Fought the Targs? Well this is my attempt at answering that question.**

**This isn't, won't and it will never be a Stark-Wank.**

**English isn't my first language and I lack a Beta, so I apologize in advance, for all typos and/or gramatical mistakes.**

**All Comments are appreciated.**


	2. The Clansman

**The Clansman**

* * *

 

The armies of the North had gathered at Moat Cailin, but most were so green that they could even piss grass. Too much times between fighting, between true fighting, not what these idiots called a fight.

The last true war on the North had been the defiance of the Towers. Those proud fouls had thought to claim the Winter Crown as Rodrick Stark buried his late father, the weak King Brandon XIII in whose reign the power of House Stark had been given way to other families leaving the Starks with almost nothing with Rodrick even saying that his father had left him as the _King of the Roads of the North._

William Towers had expect another weak king, instead he found the Blood Wolf.

The armies of House Towers were crush in ambush by a force of loyal bannermen, Stark retinues and clansmen loyal to Winterfell.

He had been there, he had fought leading the men and women of the Forrester Clan. He had gained honour and fame by slaying the Lord Towers and as payment for bringing his bloody head to the King, Rodrick had given him enough gold and silver to construct a keep to his clan and Forrah Forrester had become Lord Forrester of Ironwrath and Lord Captain of the Winter Guard.

As he walked throw the ruined that Moat Cailin had become he remembered all the fighting that had been done on these walls.

Rodrick hadn't been a weakling like his father and Moat Cailin stood as a reminder of the fate that had fallen to the Towers. Jorah could even swear that the pikes where the heads of the Towers family, men, women and children, had been placed were intact.

After all he had placed some of them on those pikes.

But those days were now long passed.

Almost twenty years of relative peace and prosperity had fallen. The Ironborn had tried twice to invade them but after getting bloody noses they just gave up and kept their gaze on the south. The fuckers of the Vale had, for once, decided to keep their noses out of the Sisters, leaving to the Northemen with the ungraceful job of keeping that race of pirates and rapists controlled which they did, after a couple of hangings and beheadings.

The downside was that no men had experience in war and he had received the shitty task of transforming that ragtag bunch of levies and conscripts into real soldiers.

Jorah passed throw the levies on his way to the king's tent. He didn't like what he saw, too much stupidity.

Sometimes all he wanted was to throw his sword away had punch some sense into their bloody heads.

And once he almost did.

An idiot recruit had decided to play hero and had fucked almost two blades paring with the sword instead of using the shield. He would kill the man on sight if he had reached on time, instead in right-hand, the Bastard son of Rodrick, had done his job for him, leaving the poor fucked with four ribs and the nose broken, before calming down.

But such was the way of the North. The way of the First Man.

The South had their chivalry and honour, let them. The North had something much more powerful.

Brutality.

If a man didn't learn at first then beating the living shit out of them would make sure they would never make the same mistake again.

And it always worked.

"...O WHOEVER YOU WISH JUST DON'T BEND TO THOSE FUCKING VALYRIAN." He heard shouted as he approached the tent.

The guards on the front rushed in side, swords on their hands ready to kill, but not Jorah. He recognized the voice, he had beaten that man enough times to know him well.

Brandon was probably just doing some shit again.

And when he entered the tent his guessed proved right, as he found the Bastard of Winterfell with Ice pointed to his throat and saying he would kill how many dragons as his brother wanted.

Brandon had always been a fool. A hot tempered one to make things worse.

"What did he do this time Lord?"

Torrhen looked puzzled at seeing him there, he obviously had forgotten that he had summoning him.

"What did you do pup to have to promised to kill the Valyrian oversized lizards?"

"I asked my brother were his balls were." Brandon answered with a smirk that only gained him having Ice pressed into his skin until blood came out.

"Careful now Brandon. You wouldn't want to lose that ugly mug of yours." Jorah warned him. "Lord, maybe it would be easier to speak if the shitface here didn't had a sword on his throat."

"You are right Lord Forrester." Torrhen agreed while putting Ice away.

"May I ask what happened here lord?"

"Is just Brandon said. I needed someone to help find my courage." At those words Brandon begun to smile, proud of himself, until a slap from Jorah made him stop.

"Don't get over your head shitface." He warned, while the King turn to the table were a map of the Neck was placed.

"Do you have any idea of how we can kill Dragons Jorah?"

"Lord if you go to the hills there will be man that will tell you ways to kills Gods. I on the other hand only know how to kill men."

"What is your advice then."

The Captain of the Winter Guard approached the map and stared at him for a while before answering.

"The Neck is some three hundred miles long and the only place they can cross his here in Moat Cailin." He thought out loud. "Were it a normal army, I would say to sit here repair what we can and just grind them down. But the fuckers have dragons, and the Field of Fire proved that no army can face dragons on an open field."

"So what do you think Jorah?" Demanded Brandon. "Do you are of my brothers mind to try to link with the Vale and face them on some river crossing or are of my mind?"

"The shitface is right on one thing, Lord." He said while facing the king. "It's useless to face them south of the Neck, better to just let them in the North. Order Reed and his men to destroy their supply lines. They will be forced to send their army and supplies throw the Neck. The Vale with not aid them, and even if they bend, which they might, they lack a fleet. The Reach is in shambles and the Reedwines are almost all dead, so their fleet will be out for a while." Jorah then turned his attention to the map. "Our men are green as grass, let the levies go home keep the retinues and men-at-arms. Abandon Moat Cailin, leave Reed harass them and when they reach the North, if they do reach the North, let them in. In two to three months they will be starving."

"See brother I told you this is the best approach." Brandon proclaimed. "Let them in, ambushed them. With luck, we might kill a dragon or two."

"What about the smallfolk Jorah?" The king asked ignoring his brother. "They will suffer."

"They won't suffer more than if the Ironborn were attacking." He pointed out. "Aegon's army is a bunch of Westerners, Reachmen and Stormlanders bound by him. He needs victory to keep them loyal. The Valyrian sisterfucker could have all the dragons in the world, that would count for nothing if he doesn't have the men to hold the ground. If you deny him his victory his men will begin to wear down, not accustomed to our land, and they will want to go home and what will he do? Burn them? He can't."

"You give me much to think about. Leave and take my brother with you, I need silence to think."


	3. Stag Lord

**Stag Lord**

* * *

 

He could feel the unrest, in his brother's army.

They had been waiting for too long, too long with nothing to do but to train and drink. He knew the dangers, of having armies doing nothing for too long and now the Riverlands knew as well. More and more complains kept coming from the River Lords, speaking of unruly men-at-arms pillaging the countryside. He hanged had many transgressors as he could to try and keep the peace, and to send a warning to the rest of the army, but that hadn't been enough, and if anything, the complains only became more common, the more men he hanged.

He had warned _him_ about this, but he didn't listen to him, he never did even when they were children, and definitely now that they were grown men, despite him being the "Hand of the King".

And now Orys was again going to meet his half-brother and King, trying to convince him to either move against the wild North or to go finish the conquest of the Southern Kingdoms of Westeros.

Personally, he preferred the latter option, as the tales he had heard about the North indicated a land of wild and brutal men whose Kings ruled with an iron hand and that had no qualms with exterminating full Houses if they betrayed them. In his mind, such men should be left to their own devices, for what good would it be for His Grace to rule over a land of savages?

When he entered his brother's pavilion, he found him in his desk studying a map of Westeros with their sisters by his side. By the Seven he knew the custom of his father's family but he would never get accustomed to see his half-siblings united in the Light of the Gods, it just didn't feel...natural, yes natural was the word, not that he would ever give form to these thoughts, least he wanted to face the wrath of his brother.

"Your Majesties."

"No need for formalities, brother." Aegon, First of His Name, said when his brother begun to bow to him. "Sit, please, and tell me what it's troubling you."

"The Lord of the Crossing came to me your Majesty." He said formally, ignoring his brother's statement. "He came complaining that some of the Reachmen had raided one of his villages, having destroyed, or stolen, everything of value, killing those that try to defend themselves and rapping the women that were under his protection."

"Why would the cries of sheep matter to the Dragon?" Visenya demanded to know.

"Your Majesty, this is just one among many complains." Orys continued, ignoring his half-sister. "I, even, heard men whispering that the behavior of our army, is no better than that of the Ironborn."

"I thought that you had fixed this problem brother."

"I hang those that I can to show the Lords that the King's justice is kept and to signal the men to stop, but the army is unruly, sire. The men grow bored of being on the same place for too long with nothing to do. Again, I offer my advice, sire, we must move. Now."

"I told already I can't move from here." Aegon then pointed to the map. "Right now, I control the entrance to the Riverlands, but if I leave the Northmen will have the way open to attack these lands and that will be far worse than than a bunch of drunken soldiers."

The way his brother spoke, filled him with rage. As if he wasn't aware of that! Still he tried to calm himself before speaking again.

"Sire, may I speak plainly?"

"Of course, brother, always."

"We must move. I know why you think that that is a bad idea but the army and the lords are growing tired of waiting. The Northmen haven't moved from that frozen hellscape they call home until now and I doubt that they will do it anytime soon and if my spies are right they appear to be more than happy to dig in and to wait for us to move against them." He stopped for a moment to regain his breath before continuing. "Let's move brother. We have to force the Vale into submission, we have to force the Faith and Lord Hightower to accept you has their Lord and Protector and we have Dorne to break. Leave the River Lords to protect the Riverlands, while you forge the South into a weapon that will bring the Wolves into submission."

After he finished silence filled the room, all not knowing what to say or do, until Rhaenys rose from her seat in anger.

"How dare you spe..."

But before she could finish her sentence, Aegon rose his hand commanding her to stop.

"Both of us, leave us." He ordered in a low voice.

"Lesser men, would be killed for saying half of what you said to me." The King finally said after his sister-wives left.

"If your Grace wishes for my head, you only have to ask and I shall be glad, to give it to you."

"I know that. And that's why you are my Hand, because you have the courage to tell me what I'm too blind to see."

"So, we shall move then." Orys stated.

"Yes, but not as you would wish." Taking a couple of wooden pieces carved as Dragons, Aegon placed one of them on the Vale. "Visenya and half of the army shall move against the Vale, with orders to peacefully bring the region into submission, we shall need them in latter campaigns and I want to conserve their force if possible." Then he placed another in Dorne. "Rhaenys shall go to Dorne with the rest of the army, I also want a peaceful subjugation of the Dornish, but I doubt that that will happen so we will need to think of strategies to conquer them."

He then took the final two pieces, one carved as a Three Headed Dragon and the other as a Stag, and placed them in Oldtown.

"While they take care of those problem we will go to Oldtown with our personal retinues, I want the High Septon to accept me as a bringer of peace and stability to Westeros and not just as another Warlord, and I also want him to anoint me as the One True King of Westeros in the light of the Seven, so better to avoid bloodshed."

Nodding in agreement Orys then asked if he should tell the Lords the new orders.

"Yes, go to them and tell them my orders."

"As you ordered, Your Grace." Orys said with a smile on his lips, for, for once, his brother had listened to him.


	4. Bastard of Winterfell

**Bastard of Winterfell**

* * *

 

He thanked the long dead King of Winter that had brought the Reeds and their vassals into the Kingdom, for this swamp that they called home was truly a weapon on itself to be used against the enemies of the North, but why must such a land, or any land by that matter, be so damn hot? And by the Gods where did all those damn bugs and reptiles came from?!

At least he knew that he wasn't alone with the discomfort, for the twenty Rangers of the Guard he had brought with him, looked as out of place as him, with their heavy furs and hauberks they all looked like fishes out of water in contrast to their cronnogmen guides in their leather armours. Well, all but that damn Raymard, of all his men only him looked unaffected by the swamps of the Neck. How the bastard did it he had no idea, but he would teach him not to act smugly towards his Captain when they were back at the Wolfswood.

As if noticing his disconfort the leader of the cronnogmen, a younger son of Lord Reed, assured him that it wouldn't take them much longer to leave the swamps.

"But I must urge you to caution, my Lord." The cronnogman said. "The Frey have no love for us northmen and if any of you are seen no doubt he will try to capture you to try to gain the favor of their new Valyrian masters."

He thanked him for his advice and asked if he knew where the army of their enemies was camping.

"I'm not sure." He admitted. "We don't dare send scouts south of the swamps, the rivermen of the region are known for their hatred of our kin, but they had scouts near us until some two, weeks ago, but now we see no men with the Three Headed Dragon standing watch near the Neck."

"Do you think they left?"

"Maybe. They have other enemies and our King as yet to move against them, so perhaps they left to face other enemies. Anyway, my Lord, if you, and your men, go towards the Twins and no doubt you will find your answers."

* * *

Brandon grunted as he removed his axe from the neck of the now dead men-at-arms.

All around him, his men were butchering the rest of the Frey patrol that had intercepted them. He had hopped to be able to reach the Twins without being caught, but fortune hadn't been on his side. Still he counted himself lucky to only have been caught by one patrol, for he had expected bigger, and more frequent, patrols to be stationed around the enemy camp.

 _Maybe the Valyrian sisterfucker is overconfident?_ He woundered, while touching the weirwood arrows that he had made to kill the beasts of the Dragon King. _If he is, he will learn better than to underastimate the North._

Still he couldn't waste time woundering about that, for he and his men had to dispose of the bodies quickly before anyone could find them.

"Raymard, come here."

"A moment Snow!" The Bolton shouted back. "I have to clean my sword."

"Move your ass, you Bolton bastard, we have to dispose of this bodies first."

"Me a bastard?" Raymard asked mockingly. "Are you telling me that my poor mother bedded another man other than my father? Oh I can only imagine how pleased he will be of finally being able to appoint that little shit that calls himself my brother as his new Heir."

"Very funny Raymard, very funny." He said while signalling his other two officers, Galbart Flint and Jon Cerwin, to come near him. "We have to dispose of this bodies quickly, we can't allow the sisterfucker to know that we are here any ideas?"

"We could throw them at the river with their armour on." Galbart pointed out.

"What if some smalfolks fishes them out? They would no doubt warn the nobles of the area and we would be fucked." Jon stated.

"There are no good options and we have to move out of here fast, before their bodies become a feast for the crows." Bolton stated in a serious voice. "We can't burn them, and sure as hell can't bury them, better do as Flint said and pray to the Gods that some riverfolk won't fish them out while we are here."

Brandon thought on his options for a while before nodding in agreement.

"Jon, Raymard, gather most of the men and throw the bodies of the men into the river. Galbart take five men and make sure that no one approaches us while we dispose of the bodies. We will move as soon as we can."

Taking care of the bodies had taken more time than what he had expected, but they still managed to reach the Twins before nightfall, giving him more than enough time to scout the army encamped around the Frey keeps.

"Raymard."

"Yes, Captain?"

"You are in command." Brandon said while removing his armour. "Make sure you and the men stay hidden, I will try to come back at the hour of the wolf, but if I don't return in two days you are to go back North to tell my brother that I was captured."

"Your brother will have our hides if we leave you here, so you better come you hear me Brandon?" Bolton said mockingly, but underneath it Brandon could feel the concern his friend felt.

"Don't worry mate, Lord Forrester is always saying that I'm too stupid to die and I have a feeling he may be right."

And with that, Brandon left his men and advanced towards the enemy camp, hoping that his luck may hold just long enough to enter the camp undetected.

* * *

Entering the camp had been easier than he had expected. There had been no pickets and the few sentries guarding the entrances, couldn't had cared less about him or the countless campfollowers entering. He had expected it to be easy, just not this easy, still he wasn't one to complain, when Lady Luck favoured him.

There still was the problem of how he would find his way around the camp, he didn't dare ask anyone around him in fear that his northern accent would give him away, so the best he could do was pretend to be a mute and to walk around to find more about the enemy. It took him time, and some bribes, but eventually Brandon found what he had looking for. It appeared that the siblingfuckers had left with most of the men, to where no one had been able to tell him, and that the only houses there were those from the Riverlands, under the command of the Tully, and from what he had heard there wan't much love lost between the new "Lord Paramount" and his new vassals. While he was pissed that the Dragons had left, he had planned to ignore his orders of just scout the enemy, to try his luck in murdering the beasts, his brother would find the latter knowledge much more useful, for no doubt many of the Riverlords were pissed at having the Tullys as their overlords, the older houses would be specially enraged about having their former vassals placed above them, no doubt. With some luck, the Blackwood's, would be more than willing to side with their fellow First-Men against the Valyrian, no doubt they would demand to be the new Kings of the Trydent and no doubt Torrhen would be more than happy to support them on that.

He could wait now until the hour of the wolf and go to go back to his men, but had told him to wait two days so he still had time and he wanted to know more about his foe, how many men had he left in the Riverlands? How many were truly loyal? But most of all he wanted to know where they were and what they were doing, so he stayed.

* * *

Where is he? Bolton woundered.

The two days had passed and if Snow didn't arrive he would be force to abandon him here, he would like to avoid that for he had grown fond of him while serving in the Winter Guard, almost to the point to consider him a real friend, for, for all his brash attitude Brandon had been one of the few to look past his surname and for that he would hate to leave him here. Still he had his orders and if he didn't arrive soon Raymard would leave to inform the King of what had happened.

He turned to Galbart and told him to go tell the men to be ready to leave.

"Do you see him?" Galbart whispered.

"No."

Galbard just nodded and went all the way back to the woods where they had been hiding for the past days.

After ten more minutes of waiting, Raymard finally saw someone approaching him and readied his bow just in case.

"We are the Swords of Winter." The shadow said when it saw him.

"We are the Wolves of the North." Bolton answered and signalled Brandon to follow him.

"How are the men?" Snow asked.

"Bored and starved. We don't dare hunt here in case someone finds us so we have been living off hard breed and biscuits for the past two days with a bit of ration the rest will last long enough for us to reach the swamps." Raymund informed him. "What about you? Found something useful?"

"The bastards left a month ago and took most of the men with them, no one in the camp seemed to know to where they left tho, other than some rumours that the Westermen went East and that the Rest went south, so they probably went to burn the Vale and Dorne into submission"

"Nothing more?"

"And apparently most of the Riverlords are pissed, even if they don't show it. The Blackwood and Braken are specially irritated as are the Darry, the Vance, the Mallister and many more."

"Why?"

"None of them liked to have the Tully as their overlords. They were kings in the past and now they are being ruled by a House that spent all of if it's history as vassals of either them or another. The Riverlords are known for their pride, and their bickering, and no doubt if it wasn't for the fling lizard they would rebel, but then if it wasn't for him nothing of this would be happening."

"Well good to know that you didn't spent the lays just drinking and whoring and that you actually did something useful for a change." Raymard said mockingly as they reach the woods.

"I never said I didn't." Brandon remarked, getting a laugh out of the Bolton heir.


	5. Rune Lord

**Rune Lord**

* * *

 

The sword felt too light in his hand, as he moved around his opponent. Robar's hands had been more accustomed to the weight of a Warhammer but since becoming Lord Royce he was expected to use the Valyrian steel sword of his family, and he had never thought the day would come he would curse for having to use such a blade but as his he struggled against Elys, he felt more and more tempted to do it.

"What's happening Royce?" The Waynwood heir asked taunting him. "I remember you being better than this. Have you even trained since you became the new Lord?"

Grunting, Robar tightened his grip and charged against the Waynwood, forcing him to raise his shield, ready to hold his ground.

Royce had been expecting that.

Letting go of the dagger in his left hand, Robar grabbed the shield and pushed it down, but has he raised the bade to punch Elys with the pommel of Lamentation he felt something on his left leg and before he knew it he was on the ground with Elys sword on top of him.

"You still fight like if you were using a hammer and not a sword." His friend told him, while offering him a hand.

"That's why we were sparring. We both know I'm shit with a sword and my father's ghost would never forgive me if I lost Lamentation because of my inaptitude."

"Now that would-be sight to see."

"Yeah. Still it wouldn't compare to this." Robar said while pointing out to the encampment behind the Bloody Gate where the might of the Vale, almost thirty-five thousand men, was waiting for the advancing armies of Aegon Targaryen.

The two men stood in silence for a while, looking at the might of the Vale, before Alys broke the silence.

"Do you think we have a chance?"

"The Bloody Gate was never broken."

"There's always a first time." Elys said melancholic. "The men say that Aegon is the Warrior given flesh and what do we have? A child King and a cowardly Queen that hides herself in the Eyrie. If the King Roland was the one leading us, I would bet that the men Vale would never be broken, but now?"

"It will be a bloody business." Robar said bitterly thinking of the brother he had lost at Gulltown.

"Indeed." Waynwood agreed. "Have you thought about what my father and the others told you?" He asked.

"I did."

"And?"

"Tell them that when the times comes the men of House Royce will be with them, as long as they keep their promises."

Elys grabbed his friend arm and held it in a strong grip.

"You have our word, my friend. When this is over House Royce will once again regain his rightful place as one of the strongest Houses of the Vale. You have my word."

* * *

_We Remember._

Those were the words of his House and has he looked to the runes carved into Lamentation Robar couldn't but smile at the irony. The Royce may remember much but none of them knew the meaning of runes that covered both their ancient blade and armour.

 _That knowledge was lost with the majority of our power_ , he thought bitterly.

Once his House had been powerful, the most powerful in the Vale, and his ancestors had been the Bronze Kings of the First Man. They had achieved their peak under Robar the Second, but with his dead at the hands of Artys Arryn the fate of the Royce had turn bleak, and now they were small Lords in the Vale, strong compared to some of its neighbours but still just a shadow of their old power.

Still he had some reasons to have hope for the future. The arrival of the Dragon Lord, and the regency of the young Arryn King, had created an opportunity for him and his house. He had already made a deal with the other Lords that felt that the young King should had a council of Regents and if everything went right his house would regain lands lost centuries ago at the cost of lands belonging to the Arryn.

If everything went all right today he would reforge the fortune of his family after centuries of decline.

But it wouldn't be easy.

While he and a good number of the main Houses wanted to remove Queen Sharra from power, she still had many supporters, especially among the smaller Houses and their leader, the Queen's cousin and the Knight of the Gate, Ser Rodrick Arryn was known for crushing all opposition to his cousin's rule swiftly and harshly. His family knew all too well about the harsh rule of Rodrick Arryn.

And, because of that, Ser Rodrick would be their first target.

* * *

 _The men are ready._ The message said.

A simple but it was all he needed. Robar turned to the captain of his Household Guard and asked him if the men were ready to advance.

"They are my Lord."

"Good." The Lord of Runestone said, while placing a hand on the captain's shoulder. "Today House Royce will be restored to his rightful place, and you shall be well rewarded for the loyalty your family has showed mine for these past centuries, you have my word."

"I thank you for your generosity my Lord."

Robar nodded and left his tent, in full armour, with Lamentation on his hipe. He left the helmet. He had no need of it for what he was going to do,

Fifty men, the best warriors of his House, walked by his side as he moved towards the Bloody Gate. As they moved, Robar would hear the sound of fighting. _The other Lords are already neutralizing the Arryn supporters,_ he thought as he raised his pace.

When he reached the Bloody Gate, he found his men already in control of the entrances to the fortress, with the lifeless bodies of Ser Rodrick Arryn's men around them.

"Where is he?" He asked the man in charge.

"Ser Rodrick and the rest of his supporters have barricaded themselves inside the main hall my lord." He answered.

"Make sure that no one is allowed in." Robar ordered before entering the fortress.

He had been here many times, most of them with his father when the old king had gather his armies in the Bloody Gate to fend off any Ironborn attempt to invade the Vale, so it didn't take him much time to reach the main hall, where sixty of his men were trying to hack down the heavy doors, behind which his goal was hiding.

"Stop." He ordered before going near the doors. "Ser Rodrick." He shouted. "You are surrounded, surrender and I give you my word, as Lord of Runestone, that you won't be harmed."

"TRAITOR." It was shouted from inside. "Go burn in the Seven Hells, you fucking oath breaker, I should had killed you with your treacherous father."

Robar had never considered himself a cruel man, hard? Yes, but not cruel. But after hearing the honour of his father being questioned by his murder, he felt his rage raising inside of him.

"So be it." He roared, before turning to the Captain of his Household Guard. "Ser Jon, bring me firewood."

Understanding what his lord wanted to do, Ser Jon asked him if he was sure about it.

"Yes."

Robar stood still as his men went to bring what he had required. He only moved when everything had been ready, stealing the torch from Ser Jon's hand. He was determined to be one to do this.

It took a long time for the fire to spread into the Hall, but after two hours the men inside were screaming, begging for aid, but Robar hardened his hearth and ordered his crossbowmen to kill anyone that attempted to escape.

When silence finally came he left, alone, and when Elys asked him what had happened to Ser Rodrick he gave him a hard look before answering.

"He's dead."


	6. Light in Madness

 

**Light in Madness**

* * *

 

 

 

"My Lord, I must insist you return to your bed. You are still too weak to..."

 

"Oh, shut up." Manfred said to the Maester before coughing.  _Blood again_ , he thought as he noticed the red stains on the ground,  _will I have enough time left to do what is needed?_

 

"My Lord, consumption is not a disease to be trifled with, you must rest, please, my Lord, I beg you."

 

_The man still thinks I can be saved_ , that thought filled whim with bitter amusement. He had long abandoned any hope of survival, what mattered now was the survival of his House. Every second counted and he didn't want to waste them arguing with the Maester.

 

"I don't have time for this, Maester. If don't move, I will have my guards move you, and I swear, that if you force me to do it, you won't be serving House Hightower for much longer afterwards."

 

That was enough to shut the Maester and to make him leave. No doubt he would go quarters, to scheme of ways to turn him around, to make him see sense, as those idiots like to say. Well, he would not "see sense", he was the Lord of Oldtown and Hightower, he was most powerful man in the Reach now that the Gardener, and their armies, had perished against the Dragonlord, and he would do what was needed to ensure the safety and prosperity of his House.

 

Even if that meant "removing" the Lunatic that the Most Devout had chosen as High Septon.

 

"Make sure that my personal barge is ready when I reach the bottom." He told to a guard. "Tell them that I wish to go to the Starry Sept."

 

It took a long time for Manfred to reach the base of the Hightower, in times past he would had done the descent in a but a fraction of the time that took him now, but the consumption was taking a tool on him and by the time he reached the barge he had to be carried by his men, being too weakened to walk.

 

The trip to the Starry Sept was a blessing for Manfred. He was able to rest, and it looked like the fresh sea air was helping his sick lungs.  _Being locked in that damn room is what is killing me, if only, I still had the strength to stay on top of a ship, the sea air would cure me in a fortnight._

 

When he, and his men, reach the Sept they were bared entry by a group of Warrior's Sons.

 

"The High Septon is in prayer, non-can enter." Said their leader.

 

"Move out of my way boy." Manfred ordered.

 

"The High Septon is in prayer, non-can enter. Do you understand old man or do I have to repeat myself?"

 

"I'm old and sick, but if you don't move..." He had to stop, as he suffered for another fit of cough. "...if you don't move, my good Sir Uther Bulwer will open your skull and those of your,  _young_ , men."

 

"You don't give orders to the Faith old man." The man roared.

 

But his shouting didn't last for long, for before he could do anything, a mailed fist had collided against his face sending him into the ground, unconscious.

 

"Show some respect to the Lord of Oldtown and Hightower,  _boy_." Sir Uther said casually, while looking at the other Warrior Son's. "Now that that was taken care off. My Lord, will meet with the High Septon, so you will allow my Lord to enter, or we will teach you why it is always good to use a helmet."

 

With those last words, the men of Hightower moved to support their Captain, forming a wall of halberds between the Warriors of the Faith and their Lord, ready to kill all of them before any could even touch their Lord.

 

"There is no need for violence, between the Faithful." Said one of the Warrior's Sons. "I have no doubt that the High Septon is already finished with his prayers, you may enter my Lord, but your men must stay here."

 

"Can I at least bring Sir Uther with me? I'm afraid I am too sick too move with help." 

 

The man thought for a while before nodding in agreement.

 

"Thank you, it's good to know that the Warrior's Sons, still have wise man in their ranks." Manfred said while moving past them and into the Sept, with his loyal retainer by his side.

 

"Is it, wise, my Lord, to bring just one man with you into this nest of vipers?" Uther whispered, when they were already inside.

 

"No, it isn't." He admitted. "But it was either that or to kill them all and to force our way into, and I would like to avoid another revolt of the Faith Militant. Only the Seven know why our Kings allowed the Faith to arm itself, and it's me that must pay for their foolishness. If it wasn't for the Dragon invasion, I would still be stuck with that, Seven times damned, High Septon, wasting my time, explaining why usury isn't a sin."

 

While the advanced towards the center of the Sept, where the High Septon would be, Manfred couldn't avoid but to think how ironic it was that the current faction in power cried that usury was a sin while covering their walls with marble and gold leaf.

 

_And they still have the guts to claim to follow those pretty vows of poverty._ Manfred thought amused _, there is more wealth here than in half the House of the Reach._

 

When they finally reached their destination the Warrior's Sons guarding the entrance opened the doors for them. No doubt the men at Sept's entrance had sent word that the Lord of Hightower wanted to speak to the High Septon.

 

The interior was even more opulent than the outside. The statues of the Seven were made out of marble of the purest white, with the only exception being the statue of the Stranger that was made of black marble, the stained glass, depicting scenes from the Seven Pointed Star, were of the best glass one could buy in Myr and gold, gold was everywhere. In the walls, in the ceiling, in the pillars; everywhere one could see gold and gold leaf. And in the center of such opulence was the High Septon, with his crystal and gold crown.

 

They meet at the center, with the statues around them looking at them in judgement.

 

"I hope you don't mind if I don't bow, Your Holiness, for I fear that if I do, I will not be able to rise again."

 

"I understand, Lord Manfred and I shall pray to the Seven that they may aid in your recovery." The High Septon lied, and both of them knew it. If anything, he would pray for his quick demise. "Still you must tell me why you came to visit me."

 

"I came here, Your Holiness, because I must know your position on the Dragonlord."

 

At hearing that the man smiled.

 

"I thought you knew, didn't I told you not to take the field against him?"

 

"I didn't took my men to aid my King, because I was too sick and because my son is no warrior, not because of some vision."

 

"Such lack of Faith is a flaw Lord Manfred, men must be devout to the Seven and to his representative on the land."

 

"Nonetheless, what do you intend to do?"

 

"I, ask you the same."

 

"I intend to bend the knee, no reason to fight, against the clear victor."

 

"Indeed." The High Septon said while turning his back on Manfred and walking the steps until the altar. "You ask me what I intend to do and I shall tell you. I had another vision, a grand dream sent to me by the Seven, in that dream the heathens of the North, had their trees burned and Holy Men were building Septs upon the ashes, I saw the Seven Pointed Star spread all over Westeros, from Dorne to the Wall and from the Iron Islands to Dragonston." As he talked his voice begun to change, becoming more erratic and he begun to shout. "And leading them was a Three-Headed Dragon, that is my goal! To have our new King, do what our ancestors failed to accomplish, to bring the Faith to the Heathens!"


	7. Stag Lord II

**Stag Lord II**

* * *

 

Oldtown appeared on the horizon.

The Maesters claimed that it was the oldest human settlement in the continent. Orys had no idea if that was true or fake, but it without a doubt the biggest. By its size alone, he had no trouble believing the claim that one hundred thousand lived there.

The men around him, most of them the heirs and sons of lords from the West, the Stormlands and te newly created Crownlands, also looked to the city in awe.

Only Aegon stood unimpressed. For him no city could rival the city of their forefathers. They may had only heard the tales of Grand Old Valyria, but in his brothers mind the long dead shadow of the city that at its peak, had two and a half million citizens and slaves, would always dwarf all others.

Thinking of Valyria brought a small grin to Orys face, has he remembered the drunken discussion he had with Aegon just a moon ago.

Bellow the stern iron mask of Aegon "The Dragon", his brother still held to his childhood dreams and, thanks to copious amounts of wine and mead, Orys had managed to make him drop the mask.

Aegon told him of his dream of building a city capable to stand higher than Valyria itself!

A grand city, that would occupy both banks of the Blackwater, where they had landed. A city of dreams, he called it, and reigning over it, where Aegonfort now stood, he would build a great palace, built of red stone. He had called it the Red Keep, for it would be both palace and castle. The way he described it, it would be something capable of dwarfing even the Chambers of the Council, where the the Lord Holders of Valyria decided the fate of the FreeHold during its Golden Age.

The drunken Aegon got the more he talked and when he had finished describing te city, Orys had an image of a city made of gold and marble, with a Red Palace.

Then he himself started his own drunken tirade about the city he dreamed to create around Storm's End.

After several more bottles, they had begun to argue on which city would be the biggest and after hours of drunken argument they realized that they had forgotten about the city names! Needless to say by that point that simply begun to say the most amusing names they could remember going from Wine's Keep to Baratown.

He chucked at the memory.

At hearing him, his brother turned to him and asked him what was so funny.

Orys simply moved his horse next to Aegon's, so that no one could hear him, and whispered.

"King's Falling." And begun to laugh.

Aegon was taken back by this, and his face grew red at what his brother said, but he quickly joined him in laughter.

The men around just stared at the two most powerful men in Westeros laughing, not knowing why they did so. If they had known that their King had fallen from Balereon, has he dismounted, when he had first arrived at Westeros, they would no doubt had joined them, but only his family knew and had forced them to swear to tell no one. And they complied to the promise, even if they teased him mercilessly about it.

It took them a while to stop laughing, but when they did Aegon signaled some of them to follow him and his brother into the city. The rest would stay in their camp with Balerion. He wanted to enter as the city's rightful King, and not like a common conqueror.

* * *

 

They were greeted at the main gate by the Commander of Oldtwon's City Watch, a grey bearded giant, with broad shoulders and an ugly scar across his face. He wore a coat of plates, stywith a tabard with the Hightower sigil on top of it, while an arming sword rested on a scabbard by his side.

He bowed to them.

"Your Grace. My Lord offers you the hospitality of Oldtown." As he said those words men bringing silver plates came next to them, offering bread and salt, which they all accepted.

"I had expected Lord Manfred to come greet me." Aegon said after eating the bread and salt.

"My Lord is sick, Your Grace, but he offers his apologies and invites Your Grace to the Hightower, so that you may share a meal and then go to the Starry Sept together."

If his brother was surprised by the answer, he didn't showed it, saying only that he would be more than happy to meet with Lord Manfred at the Hightower, but that he had to resolve some business with the High Septon first.

At hearing this the Commander gave his brother a piece of paper.

"My Lord ordered me to give this to Your Grace, if that was to be your answer."

What was written on it Orys would never know, for Aegon would never tell anyone about it, but years latter he would hear his brother saying that he wished he had followed the words of Manfred Hightower. Yet at the time he just posses the paper to the ground and ordered the Hightower men to take him to the Starry Sept.

Years latte much blood would be spent because of his decision.

* * *

 

The Starry Sept was truly magnificent. Or at least it looked so to Orys.

Ever since the conversion of his family to the Seven, he had tried with all his strength to stay faithful to his new Gods, even if at times he felt like praying to the Gods of his childhood.

But not now. For as he saw the magnificence of te Sept, it felt like the Seven were more real than ever to him.

But not everyone felt that way.

The Commander of the Watch, who he found out was called Edric Edricson, didn't looked pleased at the sight of the Sept, in fact the closer they got to it, the darker his face became.

And his men appeared to share his apprehension.

The halberdiers closed their hands around the shafts of their weapons with growing strength, with some getting their knuckles white, while the crossbowmen kept looking around them, their fingers always on the trigger of their weapons, as if expecting t be attacked.

Just nerves, Orys thought. They had crossed the city to arrive to the Sept, always surrounded by the smallfolk, and they were just afraid that someone would try something stupid.

When they reached the entry of the building, seven men, wearing mail over hair shirts and with rainbow cloaks, greeted them. By their swords with star-shaped crystals in their pommels and their black shields with a rainbow crystal sword, Orys quickly recognized them as Warrior's Sons, the militant arm of the Faith.

Appearing behind them, came a man dressed in gold and silver, with a crown of crystal in his head. The High Septon.

He moved until he was face to face with his brother, who had dismounted the moment they had reached the Sept. For a moment it looked like he was expecting Aegon to bow to him, but the High Septon just grabbed the King's arm and raised it to the crowed, who cheered at the sight.

Moments later the two men entered the Sept, completely alone as no one was allowed in.

What words were said inside no one knows, but when they left the building, hours later, Aegon looked troubled and when asked what had happened he justa said "I did what I had to do to secure my reign."

He would say no more about the meeting.

But has they advanced towards the Hightower, Orys felt like a dark shadow had fallen over his brother.

 

* * *

 

**All feedback is appreciated.**


	8. Bastard of Winterfell II

**Bastard of Winterfell II**

 

  
Galbart Flint was dead. The poor man, had been bitten by a swamp viper, and in the middle of the swamps, of the Neck, that was as good as a death sentence, for there was no cure, other than a blade.  
  
A small mercy, if there ever was one.   
  
When they reached the road, to Moat Cailin, less than half the men, he had taken south, formed behind him, a reminder of the power of the Neck, for if such a small group had lost so many, with the help of the cronnogmen, how many southerners would perish if they invaded them? Countless armies had been lost, in those swamps, during the ages, dragged to its dark deeps, from where there was no return.   
  
The Neck killed all, that dared to venture on it.  
  
As they marched, Brandon couldn't avoid to see the poor state of his men. The deep dark circles under the eyes, the unkempt beards, combined with their thin faces, gave them the look of starved animals.   
  
They looked like starved wolves during winter.   
  
Their once immaculate furs and armour, were now covered in filth and mud, even the weapons showed signs of rust.  
  
For a moment, he almost pitied the poor bastards, that would be forced to cross this wet hell on earth, if the Sister-Fucker invaded them.  
  
It took them two more days, to reach the gates of Moat Cailin.  
  
The men, guarding the gate, were using the Umber tabard over their armour, but even if they hadn't, it would be hard to confuse them, with any other men of the Northern Army with their lamellar armour and bardiches.   
  
Only a true madman, would charge against a line of Umber infantry, ready for battle.  
  
"Open the fucking gates!" Brandon ordered them.  
  
"And, who the hell are you?"   
  
"Brandon Snow. Me, and my men, are back from the South, I need to see my brother the King."  
  
"The King left, Snow! He left for Winterfell, with the lords." A familiar voice shouted, from the top of the walls.  
  
"Lord Forrester." He greeted. "May, you order these fuckers, to open the gate or do we have to kill them first."  
  
"You touch one of those men, Snow, and Lord Umber will have your balls, on a pike before the end of the moon." Forrester shouted back, amused, while ordering the men, to open the gates, allowing them to enter.  
  
The courtyard of the fortress was full of life, with hundreds of men, equipped with brigandines and armed with pikes, poleaxes and halberds, marched there.   
  
Next to them some groups of men were practicing archery, most were using recurve bows but the rest had heavy Myrish crossbows and longbows. It was a mighty force, more than enough to defend Moat Cailin from an attack from the South, but far smaller, than the army that had stayed in the fortress, when he had left.  
  
"What the hell, happened to the rest of the men?" Brandon asked Forrester, when the he reached the courtyard.  
  
"King's orders, boy. He couldn't keep the full army here, so he gave leave to most of the lads, but recruited as many of them, as he could." He then signalled to the men around him. "All volunteers, this lot. Mixed up with the Oathmen, the King, and the Lords, could spare.”  
  
"How many?"  
  
"Less than eight hundred."  
  
"We had thirty thousand men." He stated in disbelief. "Are you telling me, that we could only get less than eight hundred, out of that many? What the fuck, was my brother thinking?"  
  
"Shut your mouth boy, for what the King does, or does not, is not of your concern."  
  
"It's not of my concern, my ass! What the fucking h-" He never finished, as Jorah's mailed fist, hit him in the stomach, followed by a knee to the face, that threw him into the mud. At seeing his Captain, bloody in the mud, his men were fast to their weapons, but they were too outnumbered.  
  
"You, gits, better drop those fucking weapons, before I rip out your livers to offer them to the Gods" Lord Forrester shouted, while pressing his foot on Brandon's back.  
  
"You first, Lord Captain!" Raymard shouted back.  
  
"Open your eyes, boy, or you will find out that your house, ain't the only one that keeps their blades sharp."  
  
Seeing Raymard's hesitation, Jorah grabbed a spear, out of one of the men next to him, and pressed its shaft, on Brandon's back.  
  
"Do. It." He demanded again. "NOW!"  
  
As his friend grunted in pain, Raymard dropped his sword, with the rest of the men, soon following his example.  
  
"Good." Jorah said while stepping back, allowing Brandon to received aid. "Good to know, that some of you, still have some brains, instead of dogshit like this idiot." He then pointed to Brandon. "You may be the King's half-brother boy, but if you disrespect him, in front of me again, you won't get off this easily. Understood?"  
  
"Fuck you." Brandon whispered back, while spitting blood.  
  
"Do you need another lesson, in good manners?"  
  
This time, the Bastard of Winterfell kept his mouth shut, not falling into the provocation.  
  
"Good, I would hate to kill you Snow, I don't think Princess Alysanne would ever forgive me, if I killed her uncle." He shouted at the men in the courtyard, to go back to their chores, before turning his attention back at them. "Now, I know, I should wait until you have calmed down, but the Gods know, I don’t have time to wait, until the End of Days.”  
  
The big Northerner, signalled them to follow him.   
  
"Unlike you, the King, has a working brain.” He remarked, smirking. "The King, lacks the money to recruit more men, that’s why there are so few of us here, for we can't leave the west coast undefended, the fucking Ironborn still have their fleet intact, as far as we know, and they bow to the Dragon King now, and we must also take care of the western coast, in case the slavers, decide to come back for some raiding and White Harbour also needs more men to protect it, only decent place in all of the western coast where they can land. Most of the Stark Oathmen, their men, and new recruits, are either garrisoning, the coastal keeps, from Sea Dragon Point to the Rills, or helping strengthening the defences at White Harbour, the men you saw here was all the King could spare, and, even with this few, we can hold for a long, long, time against any invading army." Jorah looked back at Brandon to see if he understood. "We need men, trained men, hard fuckers, that won't break at the sight of enemy, and for that the King needs money. Now, where will he get more money from?"  
  
"Taxes." Raymard said finally understanding what Jorah was telling them.  
  
"Exactly taxes. And how can he raise the taxes, without having every men, here to the fucking Wall complaining?"  
  
"My brother called a Moot?" Brandon asked in disbelief.  
  
"Aye. And he wants you, and your lads, to go to Winterfell, to tell those proud, treasonous, Lords about what is coming from the South. And the King, needs you to scare the Merchants, and the Guilds, into thinking that, this Aegon, is the Great Other returned alive. And then, you will tell the Folk, tales of burned villages and of countless slaughter, of hundreds, no, thousands, of men, women and children, being sacrificed to the Dragon Gods of Valyria.”


	9. Appendix I - History of the North

**_Appendix I - History of the North by Archmaester Marvrock_ **

 

The Kingdom of the North, is a proud and hard land, as befitted to the last of the Kingdoms, established by the First Men, during the Age of Heroes, long before the Andal Invasion. A land, where the old costumes of First Men still linger, even if most of them have been long abandoned by the Northern Nobility, with the exception being, the isolated areas, of the Kingdom, where it is said, that the men still speak the original Old Tongue, which they simply call it "The Tongue", and not the current Northern Language, that has been heavily influenced by the Andalos.

(...)

_**Regions of the Kingdom of the North** _

 

As it can be seen in the illustration, the Northern Kingdom, is divided into the following areas:

  * Lands of Winterfell, Royal Domain of House Stark;
  * Cape Kraken, under the control of House Flint of Flint's Finger. Its Lord, holds the title of "Guardian of the Southern Coasts", a reminder, of his duty, to protect the Cape from Ironborn raids.
  * The Neck, under the control of House Reed.
  * March of Cailin, under the control of House Stark. Named after the founder of House Towers, Cailin Towers, the March, was annexed by King Rodrick, after he executed all members of House Towers.
  * White Knife, under the control of House Manderly. As Warden of the White Knife, they have the duty, to defend the Eastern Coast, from Essosi pirates and slavers;
  * Hornwood, under the control of House Hornwood;
  * Lonely Hills, divided between Houses Stark, Umber and Bolton;
  * Grey Hills, under the control of House Karstark;
  * Last Hearth, under the control of House Umber;
  * Northern Mountains, officially under direct Stark control, but the Northern Clans are the true power there;
  * Wolfswood, divided between several Houses but the main ones are Houses Stark and Glover, with the Stark controlling most of it. The Wolfswood Clans are mostly bound to Winterfell;
  * Sea Dragon Point, mostly abandoned, but under Stark stewardship. The title of "Lord Stewart of Sea Dragon Point" is usually given to the heir to Winterfell;
  * Stony Shore, under the control of House Fisher;
  * The Rills, under the control of House Ryswell;
  * Barrowlands, under the control of House Dustin;
  * Skagos, a savage land, where the rule of law matters little. The Kings of Winter say that House Magnar holds lordship over Skagos, but not even they can be sure of it.



 

(...)

_**Economy of the Kingdom of the North** _

 

The lasting image of the North, to us Southerners, is that of a savage, cold, and harsh land, where the land produces little and men live like animals, under the boots of cruel Northern Lords.

That image couldn't be wronger.

While the North, indeed, lacks the bountiful of the Riverlands, and the Reach, and could never rival, the rich mines of the Westerlands, one cannot just dismiss this land, as a place without riches.

Silver can be found near the White Knife river.

The Rills and the Barrowlands breed some of the finest warhorses in the North, a special breed between the Northern Horse and the Reacher Destrier, known for its great strength and musculature, even if it's smaller size, 14 hands, to the 16 of the Reacher Destrier, would indicate otherwise,

The Lonely Hills have great flocks of livestock and its leather is very sought after in Braavos.

The Wolfswood produce large amounts of good wood for shipbuilding, and the great Ironwood forests are a great source of wealth to its owners, as do the lands of Hornwood, Last Hearth and Grey Hills, its biggest market its Braavos.

Stony Shore, Sea Dragon Point and Bear Island have large fishing grounds near them, and are a source of food even in the harshest of winters.

Cape Kraken is home to many salt mines.

Near the Great Lake, and Torrhen's Square, lays the Copper Pit, a huge mine that some claim to be the biggest in the Known World and the lands of the Lonely Hills are also home to iron mines. Both minerals move large interests in Braavos, because of its good ore quality.

Finally, the lands around Winterfell are known for it's high, by Northern Standards, crop production, which explains the advantage the early Kings of Winter had over their rivals.

 

(...)

_**Northern Politics** _

 

Do not think, that because the Northerners are rough and plain men, that they do not fell the pull of politics, like us of the South do.

Many Northern Houses ended up exterminate when the Northerners play in politics, while others managed to avoid extermination because of it. Just like if it was a war, and sometimes it is, Northern politics are known for its ruthlessness.

During the last two centuries, Stark power stagnated and dwindled. The last true King of Winter, Artos "The Strong" III Stark, lead the Northern armies, on the last Northern invasion of the Sisters, during the final stages of the War over the Water, just to end up being killed, by an unknown soldier, during the Siege of Sistertown, while storming the city walls. An ignoble death, for a man, that was known to bend iron bars with his bare hands.

King Artos, a mere eight and twenty at the time of his death, had died without an heir, he had refused to marry, and, rumour says, he favoured the company of men over that of women.

After retreating from the Sisters, the Northern Lords, held a Moot, in Winterfell, to decide who would succeed King Artos.

The main candidates, were the King's sister, Princess Lyrra, married to Edric Towers, the heir to Moat Cailin, and the King's natural brother, Lord Rickard Stark*, married to a second daughter of Lord Mors Umber, whose name has been lost to history.

There had been other candidates, but, for the sake of simplicity, I will focus on just this two.

Now, before I can go forward, I must first explain, what a Moot is.

A Moot, is a congregation of the Northern people, that can trace its origins back to the days before the First Men, converted to the Gods of the Children of the Forest. In those days, it is said that every free man, had the right to cast a vote when the tribal Moot was gathered, but by the time of Artos III, only some types of men, qualified to take part in the Moot:

Northern Lords and Masters;

Guild Masters and Master Traders**;

Eldermen***;

The Northern Lords and Masters made up 44 Members, the Guild Master and Master Traders 71 Members, and the Eldermen 153, for a total of 268 Members of the Moot, making it the largest Moot in the last five centuries, in contrast the smallest, called by Artos grandfather, King Eddyn "The Fair", had just 23 members.

Princess Lyrra's camp, was leaded by House Towers and had the support of the Southeaster parts of the Kingdom, while Lord Rickard, had the support of the Northwester regions, with the Umbers and the Karstarks as his main supporters.

From what I gathered, the Moot almost degenerated into open conflict between the two parties, I have records indicating no less than 52 men hanged for breaking the Holy Peace of the Moot, while the remaining neutrals, led by Houses Bolton, Manderly and Glover, tried to get as many compromises, as they could, from the two candidates.

In the end, Lord Rickard won the last vote, 135 in his favour, against 133, in favour of Princess Lyarra, but this marked the end of the Golden Age of the Stark Kings, in which they acted as they pleased, and ruled with almost absolute power over the North.

To win the election he was forced to concede many lands and rights. to its supporters and to weaken Royal Power. and authority. over the North and when the Kingdom of the Vale invaded the White Knife, in retaliation for his brother's invasion of the Sisters, he was forced to compromise, even further, but this time with his former rivals, to gather an army big enough, to defeat the Vale invasion.

From there on, a downward spiral begun.

King Cregan I "The Half-Snow" ended up dying, six years after being crowned King, some whispered that he was poisoned, but the Grand Master of the North, said that he died of consumption, and was succeeded by his underage son, King Brandon XIV, whose reign is a black mark on the History of the Starks. Brandon XIV "The Weak" ruled for over fifty years, but his reign was marked by internal struggles, as all Northern factions, played for control over the weak minded King.

Following Brandon XIV "The Weak", came the sickly Benjen VII "The Bitter", followed by Benjen VIII "The Sweet", Rickard IV "The Giant", that managed to stabilize the Stark Dynasty and even manged to turn the tide of decay, only to have his work undone by his son Cregan II "The Fool".

Finally, after Cregan "The Fool", came Rodrick VI, known as Rodrick "The Hammer". King Rodrick crushed House Towers, killing all of its members, restored Royal Power by force, and cunning, and expanded the power of House Stark, to levels not seen since the early days of King Cregan I.

*Rickard Stark had been legitimized by King Artos, after the Battle of Longsister for having crushed the left flank of the Valemen;

**Merchants with Royal Monopoly Charters

***Representatives sent by settlements with Royal Town Charters;

 

(...)

_**Northern Justice and Laws** _

 

Northern Law, is based on the Cregan Code, a code of laws written by King Cregan on the first year of his reign, which was based on the elder Code of Brandon, the laws written by Brandon VII, four hundred years before Cregan. While it was, initially, designed to try to bypass the restrictions, he had been forced to agree upon to get the Winter Crown, since the days of Cregan, it has been modified several times, with the last King to change it being King Rodrick, that restored most of Cregan's Original Laws and added several of his own, with the aim to strengthened his grip on the Kingdom.

Despite the First Men tradition, that says that: "The man who passes the sentence should swing the sword", the sheer size of the Kingdom, makes it impossible for the Kings of Winter to do like their predecessors, so, since the days of King Brandon XI, they started to appoint regional officials, named Justicer, to upheld the King's Justice, in the region.

Usually, the Justicers are appointed by those that, directly, serve the King, a means to ensure that these men, that are dependent on him, are completely loyal to him when given, these positions of great power. Still it is not unknown for a Great Lord, or his heir, to gain the post.

The Justicers then appoint the local Judges, usually the local Oathman is the appointed Judge, but there are cases of Elderman receiving the appointment.

The Judges take care of the local crimes, but only the Justicers have the power to sentence a man to death, but considering that most men, in those circumstances, usually, choose to go to the Wall, Justicers, usually, don't have to take care of local crime, leaving them free to keep to their true objective.

To keep the King's Peace in the region by all means needed, even by force.

 

(...)

_**Northern Religion** _

 

The main Northern Religion is the cult of the Gods, or "Old Gods" as we call them, but that cult is, by nature, highly decentralized, which explains why a follower of the Old Gods from the East coast, will worship them in a completely different way, from a man from the West coast.

From the Stony Shore to Sea Dragon Point, regions where most settlements are located near the coast, it's customary for the fishermen to cut small branches of the Weirwoods, before leaving on long fishing expeditions, and when they return, they always offer their best catch to the Old Gods, by placing on the branches of the Weirwoods.

In Bear Island, the warriors are known to carve pendants in the shape of Weirwoods believing that they will protect them in battle. They are also known, to make animal sacrifices, to the Old Gods, before battle.

The Northern Clans are known, for their informal approach to the Old Gods. Because of their semi-nomadic way of life, and the harshness of the Northern Mountains, there is only one, known, Godswood in the region, that the natives claim to be the very first Grove, the Children of the Forest ever created. At the end of every Lunar Year, the Clans gather for a great celebration, the Gathering, in that Godswood, to participate in festivities in the Name of the Old Gods, that always ends in a Great Melee between the Champions of the Clans. The last man standing, is considered to be a Chosen of the Gods and is given the task to protect the Godswood, until the next Gathering.

In the Wolfswood, knowledge of the practices of the Wolfswood Clans is more restricted, but from what I was able to gather, the Direwolf is a sacred animal by them and those that see one, and live to tell about it, are considered to be "Blessed by the Gods."

The Rills and the Barrowlands say that the dead linger in the Weirwoods and that they must receive constant offerings, so that their spirits may stay away from the living.

The Lands of Winterfell hold the biggest Godswood in the North, the Godswood of Winterfell, that is considered to be the spiritual centre of the North, for the followers of the Old Gods. The King of Winter is it's Guardian, a post of great religious importance. It is usual for the men, of this region, to go hunt wolves in the Wolveswood, during their Rites of Passage, and then to offer the dead wolf's pet to the Old Gods, by placing it on the branches of a Weirwood.

The White Knife is the only region, with a sizable number of followers of the Seven. Their centre of worship is the Sept of the Snows, home to the Northern High Septon, the spiritual leader of those that follow the Seven in the North. Since the days Winter Schism, when the Northern Septons declared to be under the direct protection of the Kings of Winter and to expel the Faith Militant, the Northern Faith of the Seven is seen as heretical in the South.

The followers of the Seven in the North favour, The Smith above all other Gods, but there is a considerable minority that holds The Warriors as their main God.

In the Hornwood and the Lonely Hills, they are very similar in their approach to the Old Gods. Their Godswoods are mostly located near rivers and water sources, a practice reminiscent of the days, before the conversion of the First Men to the Old Gods, when this people favoured the Spirit of the Rivers above all.

The Grey Hills and Last Hearth are much more "basic", in their worship. It is said that they still make human offerings in the Godswoods, those are most likely baseless rumours, but it is common knowledge that animal sacrifices are common and there must be some base for these rumours…

Skagos is an enigma, and the rumours I heard about them on this topic, are too evil for any sane man to consider them true, for if they are, then, one wonders, why do the Kings of Winter tolerate their dark practices.

I was unable to find any reliable sources about the religious costumes of Cape Kraken, but, rumour says, that despite holding to the Old Gods they still worship the Sea God of the First Men.

The Neck is, probably, the region with the strangest costumes. While the rest of the North sees Skinchangers, and to a lesser extend Greenseers, as aberrations, the descendents of the unholy union between Man and Children of the Forest, in the Neck they are considered to be touched by the Old Gods and are revered for it.

 

(...)

_**Northern Armies** _

 

The North, despite its size, is a land with few people. Most Northern Maesters say that there may be between one to three million people, living in the North, which compared to the population of the Southern Kingdoms it is small, but to compensate for their low numbers, the North is home to some of the best warriors in Westeros.

The March of Cailin, supplies the North with their toughest warriors. Men with an iron discipline, that are known to fight to the bitter end, no matter the odds. To face a line of Cailin pikemen in open field is a terrifying experience, as the men of the Vale can testify.

The Rills, Barrowland and White Knife are home to the majority of the Northern cavalry. Despite being considered inferior to their Southern counterparts, mostly because of the smaller size of their horses, they are known to be able to hold their ground, when needed. They don't particularly favour the charge, unlike the Reachmen, and they are known to prefer to fight on foot instead.

The men of Horwood are famous for their light cavalry, the hobelars. Using little to no armour these men, are known for their scouting skills and their mobility.

The Lonely Hills, Grey Coast and Last Hearth are home to some of the most aggressive warriors in the all North. This are men that in times of peace serve as mercenaries in Essos, and as such are tested warriors, with little, to no, pity. Few men, are able to hold their ground against a charge of Umber infantry and Bolton infantry are feared on both continents.

The Wolfswood supplies the North with their best archers. These are men, that have been hunting in the Wolfswood since they were old enough to hold a bow, and as such they are skilled in their arts.

The Lands of Winterfell are home to the best, and most numerous, warriors of the Kingdom. Disciplined, though, and with an iron will, these men form the centre of the Northern Army. Armed with pikes, polearms and halberds, they form the iron mailed fist of the Kings of Winter.

* * *

I replaced the text of the previous chapter with the new version of it.

I plan to write a few more of this type of chapters to explain the Westeros of Untamed Wolves, as I have decided to expand on the world building.


End file.
